


Between Dusk and Dawn

by LaurieRoar



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, I just want to explore his psyche, I'm not empathizing with Ozai, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Ozai has feelings, i'm sorry but zuko is gonna suffer, no beta we die like men, props to you if you can catch the Sokka/Zuko references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:01:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27708026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurieRoar/pseuds/LaurieRoar
Summary: The world isn't black and white. Between dusk and dawn, there are shadows, and it's here that Ozai lies.In which we follow Zuko's childhood from Ozai's perspective. Mostly canon compliant.
Relationships: Azula & Ozai (Avatar), Azula & Zuko (Avatar), Azulon & Ozai (Avatar), Iroh & Ozai (Avatar), Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Ozai & Ursa (Avatar), Ozai & Zuko (Avatar), Ozai/Power, Ozai/Ursa (Avatar)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 94





	1. Love At First Sight

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't proofread this.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ozai feels his heart awaken.

Ozai was not an emotional person. Ever since he was a teenager, the only emotion he could recall feeling was anger. He didn’t understand when others spoke about sadness, or fear, or especially, love. If he thought back further, perhaps to when his mother was still alive, he could recall vague feelings of happiness and attachment. He knew his mother used to tell him she loved him and he knew he used to say it back. But the memories were faded like distant ships in the morning fog. Now, if he wasn’t clamping his mouth shut to stop himself from screaming out the rage that seemed permanently embedded in his chest, he felt nothing.

He preferred this, of course, to being weak. It was the only thing his father, Azulon, seemed to admire about him. Emotions were nothing but biases, logical fallacies that tricked the mind into making poor choices. It was the only thing Ozai had that Iroh did not, or rather the only thing Ozai lacked that Azulon didn’t wish he had.

And to much internal confliction, Ozai felt his heart awaken the first time he saw his wife. He had stood beside Azulon, surprised by the foreign smile on his father’s face as he spoke gently with the commoner in the greenhouse. His future wife’s mother was outside, tears streaming down her face, and her father was listening to Azulon with fear and sadness in his eyes. The sight was infuriating – two selfish yokels who would prefer their daughter remain an impoverished peasant than live in luxury without them. Ozai waited impatiently for the woman to come home, desperate to see what she looked like. Of course, Azulon had scolded him for caring. Her appearance didn’t matter, he’d said, as long as she was fertile and obedient. Regardless of what she looked like, he would need to have children with her. It was his duty to fulfill the prophecy of the Fire Sages. Still, he couldn’t help but be curious. This was the woman he was going to wake up to for the rest of his life. This woman was going to have his babies. The rest of the Fire Nation would know this woman as his own.

She finally entered the greenhouse, and the sight of her alongside the garden of flowers with the sunlight glowing behind her made Ozai feel weak in the knees. When her eyes connected with his own, he felt something cold in his heart begin to melt and then flutter in his chest, like it was alive. The closer she got, the more relieved Ozai felt, mesmerized by her beauty and the gentleness of her presence.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her as Azulon explained their visit. The woman, Ursa, appeared conflicted and afraid. Her eyes darted between the Fire Lord and her mother. Azulon had told him to prepare for the possibility that they may have to carry her away, kicking and screaming, while guards restrained her parents. Ozai thought it unlikely – he couldn’t understand what peasant would shut down the chance at becoming royalty – but he hadn’t thought he would care if Azulon’s prediction had come true after all. Until he saw her, that is. Their eyes connected again and he tried to look as kind, gentle, and handsome as possible, smiling softly while standing up taller. He didn’t want to force her to leave. He wanted this beautiful creature to leave with him, to have his children, to love him, willingly.

A weight lifted off his shoulders when she agreed to the marriage, expressing her honour to serve the Fire Nation, and he grinned in approval. He spoke with her only briefly on the long journey home and pretended not to notice every time she wiped a tear from her cheek. Perhaps she missed her parents already, or felt guilty about leaving them behind. She looked at Ozai with fear, but also curiosity, and the few times he was lucky enough to see her smile, he felt more of the ice in his chest start to crack.

The Fire Sages kept Ozai apart from Ursa in the weeks leading up to their wedding. It was traditional, but it frustrated him not being able to see her. Looking at her pretty face was like a drug, and he grew more and more impatient for their wedding, particularly the evening when their relationship was to be consummated. Azulon told him on several occasions to make a baby as soon as possible. Often, it seemed Ozai’s father was more impatient about it than himself.

When the wedding day finally arrived and Ozai saw his fiancé again, dressed in elaborate royal garments and painted up like a perfect doll, it was like seeing her again for the first time.

But he found himself confused and irritated as the day progressed. When she looked at him, her face seemed content, with soft eyes and a sweet smile that radiated warmth throughout his body. Then in the next moment, he would catch a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye, staring off into the distance with a look of misery. He hoped he could find the right words to ease her mind, to convince her that, with him, her life would be so much better than she ever could have thought possible. She could abandon and forget about the commoner life she’d been suffering through since her unfortunate birth in the lower class and start again in the palace. She could have everything she ever wanted – he could give it all to her.

That night, she slowly followed him to his bedroom. They sat down on either side of his bed and he could feel her tension through the mattress. He searched for the right words – the first thing to say to his wife now that they were alone.

“Ursa,” he said softly, “you will have a good life with me.”

Ozai felt a flicker of anger at himself when he saw her body tense up even more, but then it dissipated and she turned to him with a soft smile. Her eyes were still sad but she seemed less afraid now as she examined him carefully. “Yes, my love.”

He smiled back at her kindness, relieved, and moved to the other side of the bed. Sitting down beside her, and took her hand in his. He hadn’t been this close to a woman in a long time, and he felt surprised at how much smaller she was than him. He wondered if that’s why she was so afraid. Yes, that must be it. Her tiny fingers barely weaved through his own and, even sitting down, he towered over her petite frame, but they both knew what was supposed to come next. Ozai was still impatient. He had been all day, but he didn’t want to hurt her. This was his first chance to prove to her that her life would be good here.

“Have you done this before?” He asked softly.

She shook her head. “Have you?”

He nodded.

She seemed conflicted.

“I’ll be gentle.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

And he honoured his words. He held her in his arms and kissed her gently, allowing the passion to grow only when he noticed her legs had stopped trembling. Out of breath, he asked her if he could remove her clothes and waited for her to nod before doing so. Seeking her naked in front of him only made him more impatient, but he kept himself under control. She lay down on the bed and watched him remove his own clothes before he settled on top of her, careful not to put too much weight on her small body. He paused with his elbows on either side of her head, staring into her eyes, and she stared back. To his surprise, she kissed him first, and her eyes grew lustful as his body responded, growing against her stomach. She parted her legs and wrapped them around his waist and they rubbed against each other like teenagers as the heat grew between them. When he finally eased inside of her, slowly and gently, watching her expression with curiosity and awe, she let out a pleasured gasp and her eyes fell half-shut, her long eyelashes casting shadows down her smooth, rosy cheeks. They found a rhythm together that quickened within moments and the intensity of their eye contact grew. She kissed him greedily. He growled into her mouth. She moaned in response.

Soon, he lifted himself up onto his hands and watched excitedly as she shyly reached down to touch herself. He nodded encouragingly and held back his climax as she built up her own. Her cheeks turned pink and she looked up at him with heavy eyes, glazed over, not a hint of the fear and sadness he’d seen all day, and he swore he fell more in love with every thrust that deepened the flush on her skin and drew out sweat droplets like a magnet. She gasped when she orgasmed and her entire body shuddered beneath him, trembling inside and out. When her hands returned to Ozai’s biceps, he took it to mean she was done. Then it was her turn to look up at him with curiosity. When he climaxed inside of her, she reached up to kiss him as he gasped for breath, and when it was all over, he rolled over onto his side to stop himself from collapsing on top of her and worked to catch his breath with an arm over his eyes.

When he finally calmed down, the beauty of the night racing through his mind, he turned to look at his wife. She was looking down at her naked belly, a hand resting just below her naval, and it was then that Ozai thought for the first time that perhaps his father had been wrong - emotions weren’t so bad after all.

Months later, they lay in the same position, Ozai’s hand resting on Ursa’s stomach, which had swollen up like a volcano on her tiny frame. She was half-asleep with the hint of a smile on her face, and Ozai was falling asleep himself when he felt a movement inside his wife, a tiny jolt, like a heartbeat. His eyes snapped open and when he pressed his hand against Ursa’s stomach he swore he could feel the shape of a tiny foot, kicking with all its might. Ursa opened her eyes and smiled at him.

“He finally moved for you.”

Ozai grinned in pride. “He’s strong!”

Ursa groaned. “I know. I think he’s going to break a rib one of these days.”

Ozai wagged his finger at her stomach. “Listen here, young man, I know you’re excited to get out of there, but you’d better be gentle on your mother’s ribs, or you’re going to be in big trouble!”

Ursa laughed. “Such a good father.”

When she fell back asleep, Ozai replayed her compliment over and over again in his mind. In the eight months since their wedding night, he hadn’t thought once about his fathering skills. Perhaps he’d been too distracted by Azulon’s strategy meetings and his own firebending practise, not to mention the various Fire Nation Pride events he kept getting appointed to attend. Usually, he only saw Ursa in the evenings, marvelling as her belly grew bigger and bigger underneath her dresses. He wasn’t sure how often he would see their child once it was born. He assumed it would be similar to his own childhood – Ursa tending to the boy while Ozai tended to his princely duties, showing up only briefly to comment on his son’s progress in school or training or whatever else was necessary.

This wasn’t, however, the case with his brother. Iroh spent much of his time with Lu Ten, neglecting his own firebending practise and spending weekends away from the palace, teaching his boy how to sail or swim or make tea from plants in the forest.

It would seem, then, that Ozai had the choice of how involved he wanted to be in his son’s life – if he wanted to be like Azulon, or like Iroh. He remembered how much he’d hated his father when he was a child. Azulon always made sure Ozai knew how much of a disappointment he was. He could never make his father happy. Ozai wondered if his own child would make him feel the same way, or if he’d be like Lu Ten, putting an unlikely smile on his stoic face like the goofy grin Iroh always seemed to carry nowadays.

Ozai fell asleep at some point, lost in his thoughts. Much later, when the sun hadn’t quite begun to rise outside their window, Ursa shook him awake. Ozai rubbed his eyes, shifting in the bed that had somehow become soaking wet, and he lit the lantern on the bedside table to see what had happened. Ursa was staring at him with tearful eyes and a hand pressed against her stomach.

“The baby,” she gasped.

“What’s wrong with him?” Ozai readied himself to run for the healer.

“I think he’s coming,” her voice was strained with pain.

“It’s too early,” Ozai shook his head. Ursa wasn’t due for another month, and the Sages hadn’t predicted a premature birth.

But then his wife screamed in pain, doubling over as she clutched her abdomen. Ozai jumped out of bed and swung their bedroom door open. A guard stood watch nearby, swinging around to look at Ozai with a look of surprise. He shouted to get the healer, and the guard ran.

“Please, tell him to hurry,” Ursa gasped, but the baby didn’t want to wait. Tears were streaming down Ursa’s pale cheeks and her hand clutched Ozai’s like her life depended on it. “I want … to push,” she managed to get out between gasps for breath.

“Wait until the healer is here,” he said.

“I can’t!” She sobbed.

Ozai had never been afraid of much, but fear was rising in his chest as he glared through their bedroom door at the empty hallway. He didn’t know much about births, but he did know that this was moving too fast. When Iroh’s wife had given birth to Lu Ten, it had taken days. It couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes since Ursa had woken him up. How long had she been in labour?

He felt overwhelming relief when the healer finally ran through the door, followed by a small crowd of servants carrying buckets of water and towels. Ursa sobbed in relief.

“Zola,” she gripped the healer’s arm. “He’s coming.”

The healer softly gave her some words of comfort, but Ozai could see the worry in the furrow of her brow.

“Is the baby alright?” Ozai asked. He wanted to ask about Ursa, but he knew he should be more concerned about his heir.

The healer bowed and apologized, speaking quietly so that Ursa couldn’t hear her. “We’ll have to wait and see. The most important thing is to keep your wife calm.”

He nodded. He sat at Ursa’s side, wiping the sweat off her forehead with a cold towel and letting her squeeze his forearm through her contractions. Within an hour, the healer was helping her out of the bed and onto the floor. Ursa wrapped her arms around Ozai’s neck as she birthed their baby, screaming and crying against his chest. He held her tightly, comforting her as best he could, trying to encourage her with words he couldn’t find and watching the healer closely for any signs of concern. Later, he learned the birth lasted less than three hours, a rapid, dangerous birth that could have killed both Ursa and the baby. But it had felt like days holding his wife, watching the blood pour out of her body and feeling tiny spears of guilt pierce his heart every time she screamed in pain.

But then the healer was telling Ursa it wouldn’t be much longer, that she could see the head, and with another few pushes, Ozai watched the healer catch the tiniest baby he had ever seen, a red and wrinkly little bundle covered in slime and blood.

“It’s a boy!” The healer exclaimed.

“A boy! The Sages were right!” Ursa sobbed.

The healer passed the baby to one of the servants as she checked on Ursa, and Ozai’s eyes followed the tiny creature onto the bed, where he was carefully cleaned up, and he almost shouted in surprise and anger when something was shoved in his tiny mouth, but then he heard his baby cry for the first time, his eyes filled with tears that he forced himself to choke back.

“Is my baby okay?” Ursa cried into Ozai’s chest.

“Yes, he’s just fine,” he answered, pulling Ursa close. The tiny baby was wrapped tightly in a blanket and placed in Ursa’s arms, and her eyes lit up with so much emotion Ozai thought she might burst.

“He has your eyes, Ozai.”

Sure enough, when he looked down at his son, two big gold eyes that mirrored his own looked right back up at him. Ozai had always thought newborn babies were hideous, but as he looked down at his firstborn, he was overwhelmed with his beauty. The feeling was similar to that foreign emotion he’d experienced when he’d first seen Ursa, but so much stronger, something he wouldn’t have guessed possible. Ozai had never felt so much love in his life, and his thought from months previous was affirmed in his head – Azulon was wrong. Emotion was good.

“What’s his name?” The healer asked.

“Zuko,” Ursa answered softly with the name Ozai had chosen, her eyes fixed on the little baby, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Then the healer helped Ursa onto the bed, saying something about a placenta, and the baby was placed in Ozai’s arms. He stood in the corner of the room, holding the tiny baby wrapped up in royal blankets, staring down at him in amazement. He couldn’t believe Ursa had grown this in her body – every little eyelash, every tiny fingernail, every strand of hair. This had been what he’d felt kicking inside her stomach in the evening. As he looked down at his sleeping son, he couldn’t stop the tears from overflowing. They streamed down his cheeks and for once in his life he didn’t care that he looked weak.

Someone pulled him outside into the hallway, and to his surprise, the Fire Lord and his brother were standing there, dark circles under their eyes, staring at him in anticipation. Ozai proudly lifted the baby up for them to see. “Look at him,” he said, his voice wavering.

Azulon looked down at the boy expectantly, and the newborn seemed to sense it. He opened his beautiful gold eyes and looked up at his grandfather. Azulon’s face fell.

“Is something wrong, father?”

“He lacks the spark.”

“What?”

“In his eyes.”

Iroh spoke up. “Father, he’s not even an hour old.”

“That’s old enough.” Azulon spun around and walked away, disappointment dripping off his robes, and Ozai stared after him in shock.

Iroh looked down at the baby and grinned widely. “Don’t listen to him,” he said. “He’s perfect.”

Ozai returned his gaze to the boy. He searched the newborn's eyes for a spark, but nothing was there. And he realized that baby Zuko didn’t have his own eyes after all – he had his mother’s.


	2. Fear and Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ozai's babies are polar opposites.

Ozai sat at the beach beside his wife, his arm around her as they relaxed under the parasol. It was the first time he’d had the chance to breathe in weeks, finally having convinced his father to let him take his family to the beach house. It was their second time here – the first being six months after his son had been born, and Ursa had been desperate for some time to herself. Zuko had stayed with the servants, and in the few weeks that they were gone, she’d become pregnant with their second child.

Now, four-year-old Zuko sat across from his little sister. He’d been trying to make a sandcastle, but baby Azula found it hilarious to smash her tiny fish down on any progress he managed to make. His boy had happily resigned himself to making piles of sand for his sister to destroy. Her squeaky, hysterical laugh seemed to warm Zuko’s heart judging by the softness in his eyes. He always looked at her with such awe.

As they played, Azula started to punch little puffs of smoke from her fists, blowing sand onto Zuko’s lap. It seemed like she had been firebending from the moment she was born. Ozai remembered how proud he had been the first time she’d made a flame - right in the middle of a temper tantrum, not even a year old. Zuko, meanwhile, had yet to produce as much as a spark. Ozai crossed his fingers every time he saw the boy sneeze. He’d even sprinkled some ground pepper on his face once in hopes of instigating something but the boy had just sneezed like a commoner and then went back to sleep. Later, Ursa had asked why he smelled like Fire Flakes and he'd pretended not to know what she was talking about.

Azulon had taken him aside a few weeks earlier and told him what he would need to do if it turned out his firstborn wasn’t a firebender. His father had been clear that Ozai could not allow Zuko to bring shame to the royal family That evening, he’d told Ursa to prepare herself for Zuko’s death at his own hands. Furious and terrified, she had immediately run to the Fire Sages and the next thing he’d known, he was standing in the hallway in his pyjamas, surrounded by a crowd of people begging him to spare his child's life. Exhausted, he’d agreed to _attempt_ to convince Azulon to wait until Zuko turned five. If there were still no signs that Zuko was gifted with fire, then he would do what needed to be done, even if the mere thought of it made his heart feel weak, ready to be shattered at the slightest touch. He didn’t know how to kill a child.

He hadn’t spoken to Azulon yet. He’d resigned himself to waiting, telling himself that Zuko was just a late bloomer and it was only a matter of time before his son showed his blessing. He knew he was acting on hope, perhaps the most dangerous and naïve of all the emotions. The thought of this made anger swell up in Ozai's chest. This would all have been much easier if Ursa hadn’t been so beautiful. Perhaps then he wouldn’t have felt his heart awaken when he’d seen her for the first time, and he could’ve thrown Zuko over the palace walls without a second thought.

Azula was viciously throwing sand at Zuko now, laughing maniacally. Zuko was covering his face and giggling. Azula seemed to tire herself out after a bit, and Zuko took this as an opportunity to gently toss some sand back at her, hitting her pudgy baby leg. She froze in shock, her giant eyes even wider than usual, then a smile spread across her face and she continued her attack. Zuko’s legs were buried in sand and he turned around to shield himself more, laughing happily.

Then his eye caught something on the other side of the beach. His face turned serious. Curious, Ozai followed his eyeline to see what had distracted his boy from his play. There was a hawk nearby, circling the sand, but Zuko had seen hawks before with little interest. Ozai couldn’t see anything else that might draw his son’s attention.

Suddenly, Zuko shot up and went running across the beach. “No! Bad hawk!” He yelled, tripping over his own little legs as he stumbled on the uneven sand.

Ozai apathetically readied himself to go after his son. Azula had a tendency of running off so he was used to chasing babies by now. “Zuko, come back here,” he said sternly, and usually his son was the well-behaved one, immediately doing exactly as he was told, but this time he was too distracted. Down the beach near the water, he finally stopped and picked something up off the ground, shooing the hawk away with his free arm.

“Bad hawk!” He yelled again. When he turned around, Ozai could barely make out the figure of a turtle-crab, safely shielded underneath his son’s little arm. Zuko’s face was scrunched up in a scowl, looking about as threatening as a four-year-old with chubby cheeks and innocent eyes possibly could. Ursa caught Ozai’s eye, looking amused.

But then Zuko’s face softened and he looked confused. His eyes darted back and forth between the turtle-crab in his arms and the hawk, now perched on a log that had been washed up onto the beach.

Ursa chuckled. “He’s going to come ask if we can give the hawk some kimodo-chicken jerky.”

Ozai looked after Zuko, concerned. Azulon would call this a sign of great weakness. Not only was the boy trying to save a useless animal, but he’d then allowed himself to be manipulated by the very thing he’d been trying to save the animal from. This combined with not being a firebender was a terrible omen. Ozai felt his heart rate increase.

Ozai was so distracted by his own worried thoughts that he didn’t even notice the ocean tide begin to recede. Ursa was fumbling in the picnic basket nearby, readying the jerky she’d predicted Zuko would ask for, but when she turned around, she saw the danger immediately, and her shocked gasp brought Ozai back to reality.

“Zuko!” She cried out. The little boy jumped and looked after her, oblivious to the approaching wave, and Ursa screamed when the tide rushed across the sand, knocking the little boy off his feet and carrying him into the water.

Zuko dropped the turtle-crab and screamed. “Mama!”

Ozai jumped up and ran. He dove into the ocean just as he saw Zuko’s little head being pulled under the surface, and he felt himself panic, his heart pounding adrenaline through bulging veins. He took a breath and dove into the water, but it was too murky to see where his son had disappeared to. As he spun around frantically, praying to Agni to show him the way, a flicker of light in the distance caught his eye. It was Zuko, and he swore he was flickering like a flame, sinking near the ocean’s drop-off. He swam as fast as he could to the tiny, limp figure and when his hand wrapped around his child’s little arm, he felt a wave of relief bigger than the current that had carried the boy away. He swam to the surface. Zuko immediately gasped for air and started coughing.

As he swam towards land, he saw Ursa waiting at the beach, tears streaming down her face, sobbing in terror and relief. She ran out into the water to meet them and took their baby from Ozai’s arms.

Under the parasol once again, Ozai patted his son’s back until he coughed up a mouthful of sea water. As soon as he did, Zuko burst into tears and leaped into his mother's arms. Ozai grabbed the blanket Ursa had brought with them and draped it gently around his son's shivering body.

“I think … he might’ve firebent under the water.”

Ursa was too busy crying and hugging his boy to hear Ozai’s news. Azula, meanwhile, was now making her own sandcastles to smash, completely unaffected by her big brother’s near-death experience.

For the rest of the afternoon, Zuko stayed put in his mother’s lap, crying anytime she tried to coax him to go play. After a while, he started chattering to her about baby things. His pronunciation was so terrible that Ozai could barely understand a word he said, but Ursa could carry on a conversation with him like he was an adult. Ozai had already forgotten about the hawk and the turtle-crab. All he could think about now was Zuko being a firebender.

As it neared dinnertime, Ozai tried to coax Zuko off Ursa’s lap. “I think he might have firebent under the water,” he repeated to Ursa. “I want to see if he’ll do it again.”

Ursa looked down at the baby. “Do you want to play with daddy?”

Zuko shook his head quickly and hid his face in her bosom.

Ursa looked up at him apologetically. “He’s still scared. How about tomorrow? I’m sure he’ll feel better by then.”

Ozai nodded in agreement. The next day, after spending the night in his mother’s arms, Zuko refused to even go to the beach. Ozai took his son's hand and tried to guide him towards the water, but before they reached the sand, he burst into tears, tore his hand from his father's grasp, and ran back inside the beach house. Ozai crossed his arms and stared after him disapprovingly. Now his boy was afraid of water, and that just simply could not be allowed.

Ursa walked outside of the house with Zuko in her arms, confused. “What happened?”

“He’s afraid of the beach.”

She looked down at his little face, which he shamefully hid in her chest. “Silly baby, are you scared of the water?”

He nodded in the exaggerated way all four-year-olds seemed to do.

Ursa thought about it for a moment. “I’ll give him a bath and see if that helps.”

Ozai shrugged, and she went back inside. In the meantime, he brought Azula to the beach and watched her run around in the sand, squealing and singing and giggling. He had to chase after her several times when she got too close to the water, and she kicked and screamed as he carried her to safety. She hated being held.

At one point, as she was running around in circles, she stopped suddenly and looked down at the ground in curiosity. Ozai craned his neck to see what she’d found, and sure enough, a little turtle-crab was making its way towards the water. A devilish smile spread across her young face. To Ozai’s surprise, she reached out a pudgy baby hand and, without a second thought, blasted it with a flame from her palm, burning the critter into a crisp. She fell over backwards laughing.

Ozai stared at her with wide eyes, and after some thought, smiled in approval. He didn’t have to worry about his daughter. She was just like her namesake.

“Azula!”

Ozai turned to see Ursa and Zuko standing behind him, both looking shocked. Ursa opened her mouth to scold her daughter, but just shook her head instead, as if to rid the event from her mind. She sat down beside Ozai with Zuko in her lap.

“He did just fine in the bathtub. Didn’t you?”

Zuko nodded proudly.

Ozai stood up and reached for Zuko’s hand. “Let’s go to the ocean, then.”

Zuko hesitated, his eyes darting between the ocean and his father’s hand. He shook his head, cowering into his mother's chest.

“Zuko, you need to face your fears or they will only get worse.” Ozai grabbed Zuko under the arms and scooped him up. As he walked towards the water, Zuko started to struggle and his eyes filled with tears.

“No! No, I don’t wanna!”

“Ozai …” Ursa started nervously, standing up. He shot her an annoyed glance and she sat down again, her face worried.

Ozai took a few steps into the water and Zuko burst into tears. “Face your fears, my boy.” He started lowering the squirming boy into the ocean, but before his little toes breached the surface, Ozai felt a scorching hot pain in his hands and he instinctively dropped his son, sending him crashing into the shallow water. Ursa gasped and started running towards them while Zuko struggled back onto the sand into her arms, crying. Ozai stared at his reddened hands with wide eyes.

“He firebent,” he said to himself, then repeated it louder for his wife to hear. Ursa had scooped Zuko up in her arms and was shushing him gently while he sobbed hysterically. She glared at him.

“Ozai! That was cruel.”

Ozai scowled at her. “He’s a firebender. You should be relieved.”

Ursa seemed a bit sheepish, but she still cast him a glare before turning around and carrying the boy away from the water. She sat down with him in her lap and rocked him back and forth, smothering him in kisses and whispering in his ear.

Meanwhile, Azula was wandering around the beach in search of more turtle-crabs to burn, her face scrunched up in concentration.

“I’m going to send word to my father,” Ozai announced, and started making his way back to the house.

When he returned not long later, Ursa was sitting in the water, gently splashing around and beckoning for him to join her. Zuko was pacing back and forth nervously, his little body visibly shaking. Eventually, he made his way towards his mother, hesitantly letting his toes touch the water. Soon after, he carefully stepped into the ocean and climbed into his mother’s lap. Ursa grinned and clapped in support, and her excitement gave him the confidence to start splashing around with her. Ozai sat on the beach beside Azula, who’d fallen asleep under the parasol. He watched his wife and son play in the water until lunchtime, relieved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You sneeze like a commoner" is my new fav insult. Also, please leave me reviews - they always inspire me to write faster! :)


	3. Fire Sickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko has a good reason for struggling with his bending.

A part of Ozai wondered if he should lower his expectations. His son was barely five years old, his little face flushed from exhaustion and concentration. Master Kunyo guided him through the beginner form with his hands gently gripping Zuko’s arms. At the end, Zuko thrust his palm forward and grunted from his effort as a small spark shot into the air, fizzling out before it hit the ground.

Azula burst out laughing. A mature look of smugness spread across her face as she copied the same form for Master Kunyo, moving through it with a fluidness far beyond her age, and ending with a blast of flame that made Ozai proud. Zuko crossed his arms and kicked at the ground.

It was the end of their session. Master Kunyo gathered the two children in the middle of the courtyard and congratulated them on their hard work. Ozai frowned in disapproval when he didn’t point out the clear differences in the children’s success. Zuko was smiling up at him happily, his face full of awe, while Azula was barely paying attention. She rolled her eyes when Zuko caught her eye, and fixed her own gaze on the water fountain instead.

Ozai figured now was a good time to show himself. He walked casually into the garden and all three of them turned to him in surprise. Azula’s disposition seemed to ease itself, but both Zuko and Master Kunyo suddenly seemed tense.

“Your Highness! I wasn’t expecting you today.”

“You’re excused.”

Master Kunyo nodded and ruffled Zuko’s hair before he left. He attempted to smile at Azula, but she returned it with a menacing glare.

Azula stepped in front of Ozai, her hands behind her back, and looked up at him with big, innocent eyes. “Father, did you see my fire?”

Ozai nodded. “It was excellent.”

She smirked. “Zu-zu can’t do it!”

“I saw. Princess Azula, you are dismissed.”

Azula stuck her tongue out at Zuko and skipped away, humming. Zuko’s shoulders dropped and he looked after her jealously. When he caught Ozai’s eye, he hung his head, ashamed.

“Practice the form again.” Ozai commanded. “You will be excused when you’ve produced a flame.”

Zuko looked up at his father nervously. “I don’t – “

“No excuses,” Ozai interrupted, and Zuko cowered. “Now do as I say.”

Zuko quickly returned to the form. He moved through it awkwardly, seemingly lost without Master Kunyo guiding him. A few weak sparks jumped out of his palm as he finished.

“Again,” Ozai ordered immediately.

Zuko repeated the form. More sparks. He looked up at his father nervously.

“You are a firebender, not a sparkbender. Again.”

Zuko took a deep breath, a look of determination on his young face, and this time managed to move through the form without his childish awkwardness. Ozai watched expectantly as he thrust his arm forward, palm up, but once again, only a few meager sparks shot in front of his boy. Zuko huffed and stamped his foot on the ground.

“Again.”

Zuko returned to the starting position. Ozai watched as he paused again, waiting until his breath stilled. He moved through the form slower, intentionally, fluidly incorporating his breath in a way that reminded Ozai of Azula. Zuko’s arm extended forward in a perfect finishing stance. His face fell when nothing happened, not even a spark to congratulate him on his improvement.

Ozai sighed and Zuko looked at him nervously. His eyebrows furrowed in nervousness as he returned to the beginning again, and Ozai could see his eyes were wet. A few more sparks flew from his palm when he finished, and he wiped a tear from his cheek before he moved to the start once more.

The weakness in his son tugged at Ozai’s heart, but he refused the urge to comfort him. He needed to learn. “Calm yourself.” He waited patiently while Zuko held back his tears, breathing deeply with his eyes closed. Slowly, he managed to regain control of his emotions, and when he opened his eyes again, his tears had dried.

“He’ll never get it.” Ozai turned to see Azula watching with a smirk, spinning around a nearby tree. “He’s such a baby.”

“Go away, Azula!” Zuko snapped, and the tears quickly reappeared.

“It’s easy.” Azula skipped back into the courtyard and stood across from Zuko. She repeated the form flawlessly, finishing with a blast of orange flames that made her brother stumble backwards onto the grass. “See?” She said tauntingly, her hands on her hips and her chin raised high, looking down her nose at him. “Easy.”

“I believe you were excused,” Ozai snapped impatiently. Azula looked up at him in surprise, not used to being scolded, but she stomped away obediently. He waited until he heard her re-enter the palace before turning back to his son.

Zuko got up from the ground, quickly wiping a tear off his cheek.

“Control your emotions.” Ozai commanded.

Zuko took a shaky breath. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, centering himself. Again, he opened his eyes with a look of determination and moved through the form in a swift, calculated way. A few more sparks were scattered across the grass. Without Ozai’s order, he returned to the beginning and repeated it again, and again, and again, each time with the same results.

“Again,” Ozai demanded when Zuko stayed put at the end of the form, staring at the grass where his sparks had fizzled out.

“I don’t feel good,” Zuko complained. Sweat was accumulating along his hairline and he was breathing heavily.

Ozai’s eyes narrowed. “What did I say?”

Zuko looked away. “No excuses,” he answered quietly.

“Now do it again.”

He repeated the form again, and as he sent out another burst of sparks across the courtyard, his frustration became apparent on his face. He returned to the starting position with angry eyes and moved more forcefully, his face turning red from the effort. His eyes widened in surprise when a puff of smoke appeared with the sparks. He looked at Ozai pleadingly.

“I feel hot.”

“No excuses,” Ozai snarled. “Does your sister complain this much when you’re training with Master Kunyo? Well?”

Zuko shook his head.

“And yet she clearly works harder than you, judging by your blatant difference in skill.”

Zuko’s lower lip quivered.

“Don’t cry,” Ozai barked. “Do it again.”

Anger flashed across his son's young face. He began again, and he was clearly exhausted. He moved through the now familiar form with laboured breath, his face strained and his eyes intense. As he reached the end, a narrow flash of fire, visible for only a moment, burst from his palm. He collapsed to the ground, heaving on all fours.

Ozai nodded in approval. “Again.”

Zuko didn’t move.

“A pathetic candle flicker is barely a flame,” Ozai snapped, only his annoyance and not his approval coming through in his voice. “Now stand up and do it again.”

Zuko didn’t respond.

“Prince Zuko, you will not disobey me,” Ozai snarled. He stomped towards the boy, furious, and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, lifting him up to his feet. His son didn’t stand on his own. His eyes were closed, his face red, sweat dripping down from his hairline as he gasped for breath. Ozai’s anger dissipated at the sight. Worried, he laid his boy down in the grass and felt his forehead. He was scorching hot.

“Zuko, open your eyes, my son.

“Mama,” he gasped, his eyes still squeezed shut.

“Just rest and catch your breath,” Ozai said with a softened voice. In a few minutes, Zuko’s breathing was steadier, but his skin remained burning hot to the touch. Ozai scooped him up in his arms and carried him back inside the palace. Azula was at the door, waiting for them to be done. She looked at her brother curiously.

“Did you kill him?” She asked nonchalantly.

Ozai brushed her aside. “Of course not, silly girl.”

She pranced along beside them as he carried Zuko to his bedroom. “Then what happened?” She started to laugh. “Did he burn himself?”

“Out of the way,” he snapped, annoyed. She scowled and ran back outside to the courtyard, slamming the door behind her.

A servant opened the door to Zuko’s room when he reached it, and he laid his boy down on his bed. Zuko looked up at him, his eyes glassy and his breath heavy.

“Does your tummy hurt?” Ozai asked.

Zuko shook his head.

“What do you feel?”

“Hot.”

That was strange. If he had a fever, he should feel cold. He called the servant back into the room and ordered her to bring a cold compress. While he waited for her to return, he helped Zuko out of his sweaty clothing and laid him back down again in his underwear. His entire body was flushed, as if he were covered in a red rash, and sticky from sweat. When the servant returned, he placed the cold compress on his forehead. Ozai brushed a loose strand of wet hair away from Zuko’s eyes when his boy suddenly burst into tears.

Ozai rubbed Zuko’s shoulder gently. “You’re alright, my son.”

“I want mama,” he sobbed.

He called behind him again at the servant, who still stood nearby with her eyes fixed on the floor. “Bring my wife.”

Tears poured down Zuko’s flushed cheeks as Ozai watched in confusion. “And the healer, he added.”

Ursa arrived first. As soon as she saw Zuko, her brow furrowed in concern and she darted across the room to kneel beside him. She put a hand on his forehead, then jerked it away in shock. “He’s burning!”

Ozai nodded. “I’ve called for the healer.”

“What happened?”

“He collapsed in training.”

“Zuko? My poor baby,” she said worriedly, and Zuko whimpered, reaching out for her. Ozai held him still on the bed. His eyes were squeezed shut now, but the tears kept leaking past his eyelids.

“What should we do?” Ursa asked, her voice fearful.

“Just wait until the healer gets here.”

Ursa nodded, and her eyes darted to the door impatiently.

The healer arrived quickly. Ozai stood up and pulled Ursa with him to give her space. As she checked over their son, her face changed from confusion to concern. After what seemed like an eternity of prodding, listening, and examining, she turned to Ozai.

“What happened?”

“He was learning a form and collapsed.”

“I see. Can I ask ... how is his bending?”

Ozai exhaled in a huff, ashamed. “Poor.” He hesitated before adding, “He has yet to produce a proper flame.”

“He can make sparks,” Ursa added defensively, and Ozai rolled his eyes.

“I think I’ve seen this before,” the healer began. “Could I talk to you alone, your Highness?”

Ozai nodded, and Ursa pressed her lips together in annoyance as they moved to the hallway. She sat down on the bed to comfort their son, who’d started whimpering for her.

Outside the room, Ozai crossed his arms. “What is it?”

The healer looked nervous.

“Speak frankly,” he said sternly.

“Yes, your Highness. His condition is similar to cases I’ve seen in the past, in the Colonies. Commoners call it Fire Sickness.”

Ozai scowled. “He has a commoner disease?”

The healer shuffled anxiously. “I wouldn’t say that. It’s a condition that can lay dormant in firebenders across classes, but usually only manifests amongst commoners. It’s triggered by trauma.” She seemed to choose her words carefully. “Of course, I have no idea what possibly could have triggered it in your son.”

“What is it, exactly?”

“Well … usually, the bending ability is connected to the body, hence why it’s passed down in families. Rarely, the bending ability can be connected to the soul instead.”

Ozai raised an eyebrow. “Like the Avatar?”

“Somewhat, though I’ve never heard of the Avatar having Fire Sickness. What happens is the firebender’s flame is too large and strong for the child’s body. As he bends, the flame intensifies, and it burns him from the inside out.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Usually, children with this condition don’t even start bending until their at least teenagers. But, like I said, sometimes a … traumatic situation can activate their flame. Something life-threatening.”

Ozai thought back to the first time Zuko had firebent, right after he’d almost drowned in the ocean. “Hmm. I can think of one such instance.”

The healer nodded. “Then Fire Sickness is my best guess.”

Ozai sighed. “How do we cure it?”

“Well, the only cure is growing up. Once his body is bigger, he should be fine. But while he’s small, he’ll burn up if his flame is overactivated.”

Ozai hummed, concerned, and he paced back and forth. This would make Zuko’s training even more difficult.

“For now, we can do our best to cool him down, but it’s not as simple as cooling down his body. There's an herbal remedy I can make for him. I should have what I need for it. The ingredients are hard to come by. In the meantime, let's put him in an ice bath."

Ozai nodded, but he called after her as she left - he’d had the thought of Azulon finding out about this, and was certain he would react negatively.

“I expect you’ll keep this discrete.” His voice was threatening.

The healer nodded, fear flashing across her eyes briefly. “Yes, your Highness."

Ozai stepped back into Zuko’s bedroom and almost ran into Ursa, who had been eavesdropping by the door.

“Did you hear everything?”

“Yes. Did Zola leave?”

“Who?”

“The healer.”

“Yes. She’ll be back with medicine.”

He ordered a servant to fill Zuko’s bathtub with cold water and ice, and he paced back and forth while he waited, unable to stop thinking about his son’s bending lessons. He knew what Azulon would say – he had to keep training, regardless of the consequences. But when he saw his boy out of the corner of his eye, huddled up on the bed, flushed red and struggling to breathe, he felt conflicted. It made him feel frustrated with himself. He needed to be stronger.

When the water was ready, Ozai carried Zuko to the tub and lowered him into the water, shushing him when he cried out. He pried Zuko’s little arms off his neck. His boy gasped and shivered in the freezing water, tears running down his cheeks as he shivered uncontrollably. Ursa knelt down beside him and comforted him, whispering gently in his ear and brushing hair off his sweaty face. By the time the healer returned, he seemed more alert, his eyes opened wider and his tears dried, but he continued to sweat and breathe irregularly. The healer handed Ursa a small bowl, and told her to make sure Zuko ate it all.

“What is it?”

“It’s made from turtle-duck shells. He won’t like it – it’s very bitter – but it will calm his fire.”

Inside the bowl was a large cube of black jelly, unlike anything Ozai had seen before. A strong medicinal odour radiated off of it, a sickening smell that made him wrinkle his nose. Ursa poked it with a spoon and gave Ozai a look when it jiggled strangely. He shrugged. She took a spoonful of the jelly and brought it to Zuko’s mouth.

“Open up,” she said nervously. Zuko looked horrified at the sight of it and shook his head rapidly, squeezing his mouth shut. Ozai caught his eye and raised his eyebrows expectantly. After a pleading look failed to change Ozai's expression, Zuko sheepishly opened his mouth. The moment the jelly touched his tongue, a look of disgust spread across his face.

“Yucky!”

“I know, baby, but you have to eat it. It’s medicine. It will make you feel better.”

Zuko swallowed it fast. When Ursa came back with another spoonful, he looked at Ozai again, desperate.

“Eat,” Ozai said pointedly.

By the time he’d eaten the entire bowl, Zuko’s face was pale and green. Ozai was ready to slap a hand over his mouth and make him swallow anything that tried to make its way back out of his stomach. Within just a few minutes, his fever was dropping and his skin started to cool down. He shivered in the cold water.

The healer felt his forehead. “I think sleep would be best for him now.” So Ozai lifted him out of the tub and set him down for Ursa to dry him off with a towel. Once she’d helped him into his pyjamas, he carried him back to his bed and tucked him in under the blankets.

Zuko’s eyes drooped sleepily, but he was looking up at Ozai curiously.

“Sleep now, my son.” He said, adjusting the pillow behind his head.

“Daddy?” Zuko asked in a quiet, uncertain voice.

“Yes?”

“I have a question.”

“And what would that be?”

Zuko thought for a second, and his face seemed sad. “Why can’t I make fire like Azula?”

Ozai frowned, unsure how to respond. He was surprised his son was thinking about his bending when he was so sick. Ursa looked at him expectantly, but there was something deep in her eyes that he swore looked like fear. He turned back to his boy. “Because you need to practice more.”

He saw Ursa's shoulders fall out of the corner of his eye.

“But I practice more than her.”

Ozai sighed. “Then perhaps you need to practice harder.” He looked over at Ursa, and she seemed angry. He didn’t understand why – it’s exactly what Azulon would have said to him, and what he expected Iroh would have said to Lu Ten.

Ursa knelt down beside Zuko and took his hand in her own. “Azula can firebend better than most children even older than you, little one. You shouldn’t compare yourself to her.”

Ozai frowned. “Yes, he should.”

Ursa looked up at him, and her eyes were pleading.

“Azula is a prodigy,” Ozai continued, ignoring his wife, “and you should expect no less of yourself.”

Ursa shot Ozai a furious look. Zuko looked confused and afraid, his eyes darting back and forth between his parents. His mother’s face immediately softened when her gaze returned to him. “Everyone is good at different things, Zuko. Azula is good at firebending, and you’re good at music, and reading, and writing, and lots of other things.”

“What’s a prodigy?"

“It just means that firebending is really easy for her.”

“Oh,” Zuko nodded. “Reading is easy for me.”

Ursa smiled. “And Azula struggles with it – see? Everyone is good at different things.”

“Okay.”

Ozai wanted to challenge his wife, but he stayed silent. He figured he’d wait and talk to the boy later, when Ursa wasn’t around to confuse him. “Sleep, now. If you wake up, ask the servant to feed you dinner.” He started to leave the room, rolling his eyes when he heard Ursa continue to comfort him.

“Ursa, let him sleep.”

She hesitated, then sighed. She gave him one last kiss on the forehead before following Ozai out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Azula was peeking out her bedroom door across the hall.

“Go to sleep, Azula.” Ursa said softly.

“Is Zuko okay?” She asked hesitantly. When Ursa nodded, she seemed disappointed. She really was exactly like her namesake.

The next morning, Ursa approached him in his study. He’d been looking through records of Sozin’s past attacks, searching for inspiration for the next strategy meeting. He wanted to convince Azulon to advance troops to Ba Sing Se before they had time to prepare for their attack, but Azulon was growing weary in his old age, more hesitant. Weaker.

“My love? I was hoping we could discuss our son.”

“What would you like to discuss?" He reluctantly set down the record he'd been examining.

“I was thinking now would be a good time to speak to Master Piandao. I know he said Zuko was too young to start training in the art of the sword, but perhaps, given the circumstances, he would reconsider.”

“And why would we need to do that?”

Ursa looked confused. “Well, Zola said – “

“Who?"

“The healer. She said that Zuko shouldn’t continue firebending until he’s older. Perhaps he could begin training with Master Piandao while Azula is training with Master Kunyo.”

Ozai’s brow furrowed. “You want him to stop his training?”

Ursa stared at him blankly. “You want him to continue?”

“He must continue. If he doesn’t learn the basic forms as a child, he’ll never become a master.” He returned to the documents on his desk, annoyed.

Ursa’s eyes turned angry. “He’ll never become a master if he’s dead.”

Ozai raised his eyebrows. “Don’t overreact. He’ll be fine.” He was surprised and even more annoyed when she didn’t leave, and he glared at her, frustrated with her disobedience. “He’ll continue his training. That’s final.”

“No!” She shouted firmly.

Ozai was taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“I won’t let you do this to him. Is his bending all you care about? You were ready to throw him over the palace walls last year when you thought he might not have the gift. If you hadn’t traumatized him into using his fire before he was ready, you probably would have, and he would’ve been a bender all along! And now you want to continue to force him into this when it’s making him sick?”

“What are you going on about, woman? Is it my fault he almost drowned?”

“You forced him into the ocean when he was terrified!”

“He needed to face his fear.”

“He needed to be comforted!”

“He needs to learn to comfort himself.”

“He has lots of time to learn that, Ozai. Right now, he’s still a baby. You seem to forget that.”

Ozai sighed, running a hand across his face. “I don’t expect you to understand the complexities of royal life. But you do need to realize that he has been born into responsibility. There are expectations he must live up to. He is a prince of the Fire Nation, and my firstborn. I will not allow him to be a disgrace.”

Ursa was shaking from anger. “A disgrace? He is a beautiful, smart, caring little boy.”

“Those are hardly honourable traits.”

Ursa’s eyes narrowed into slits. “What are you going to do then, Ozai? Force him to bend until he dies of fever? What kind of heartless man cares so little for his own child?”

He returned Ursa’s hateful look. “A prince who cares more about his nation. And I will expect my son to be the same.”

Ursa closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. When she opened them, she looked like she wanted to cry. Ozai wondered if he should feel guilty, but it wasn’t his fault his wife didn’t understand the pressures and expectations of life as a royal. She wanted to coddle Zuko and raise him like a commoner, like a normal child, but he wasn’t normal. Royal children were not allowed childhoods.

Ursa’s eyes were gentle again. “Please, Ozai.” Her voice broke. “He’s my baby. I can’t see him in pain. It breaks my heart.”

Ozai sighed and ran his hands through his hair. Zuko was already behind in his training, but he knew deep down that Ursa was right. If Zuko were to train as much as he needed to catch up with Azula, he wouldn’t survive.

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, taking another deep breath as he thought. “He will continue to learn his forms, but incorporate bending only briefly to practise. I expect him to attend his regular sessions. This will be supplemented with Master Piandao’s lessons. He’ll be training longer than Azula, but if he is to meet the standards of a royal’s fighting skill, it will be necessary.”

Ursa looked relieved, though perhaps still a little nervous. “Thank you, my love.”

He couldn’t help but feel a small twinge of pride at her pet name, but he stifled it down, not letting it reach his eyes. He nodded at her, and she left the room, closing the door softly behind her.


	4. Turtle-Ducks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko needs the turtle-ducks, for more reason than one.

By the time Zuko turned 7, Azula had mastered triple the number of firebending forms than him, and could easily produce flame blasts bigger than most teenagers. In the deepest of her concentration, her flames could turn blue – something even Azulon couldn’t do. And yet, Ursa had still complained to Ozai that Zuko was training too much. Apparently he was lonely. He didn’t have time to make friends and he was jealous that Azula had time to play when he didn’t. Ozai had been furious that she’d even suggested reducing his training hours.

He was contemplating this one evening while he sat with his brother. Iroh had convinced him to play a game of Pai Sho, claiming that Ozai had seemed tense lately and needed to relax. They sat in Iroh’s garden, his brother chugging down tea while Ozai sipped on Fire Whiskey, and casually played the game. Ozai was trying not to notice that Iroh was going easy on him. It reminded him of when they were children and Iroh would let him win for fear of him blasting the Pai Sho board with fire until it burned to a pile of ash. Again.

“What are you thinking about, my brother?” Iroh asked, moving a piece without even looking at the board. Ozai could see three different ways of winning now, and he knew Iroh’s skill in Pai Sho was far too advanced for such a simple mistake. It was annoying.

“Our father,” he answered truthfully.

Iroh looked surprised. “Oh?”

“He’s approaching the war like you’re approaching this game. Like he wants the enemy to win.”

Iroh blushed. “Don’t be silly, brother! Why would I let you win?”

Ozai leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, resisting the urge to knock the Pai Sho board off the table. “He’s growing soft in his old age.”

“Soft?” Iroh raised an eyebrow. “Last week, he wiped out three Earth Kingdom villages to expand the Colonies.”

Ozai shrugged. “He should have wiped out more.”

Iroh’s face turned serious, a rare occurrence. “Is that what you would have done?”

Ozai knew the question was a trap, but he stepped into it anyway. “No. I would be advancing into Ba Sing Se.”

Iroh rolled his eyes. “This again.”

“The city will be a fortress by the time he finally chooses to attack. He’s being foolish.”

Anger flashed across Iroh’s eyes. “You dare call the Fire Lord foolish?”

Ozai refused to regret his words, but he stayed silent.

Iroh leaned back in his own chair, watching his brother carefully, his eyes concerned. When he spoke, his voice was strained, like he was holding back from shouting. “I suppose you think you could do better?”

Ozai snarled, “Yes.”

Iroh seemed shocked, but only for a moment before his anger finally overflowed and he raised his voice. “You have always been jealous of my birthright. Even if you think you could do better, you will never get the chance. You need to remember your place.”

“My place?” Ozai slammed his fists on the Pai Sho board, making Iroh wince. “My place is protecting the Fire Nation, something the Fire Lord and his successor appear to be less and less concerned about these days.”

“You think invading Ba Sing Se will protect the Fire Nation?”

“They grow stronger every minute of every day. We can’t have them plotting against us.”

“You’re being paranoid.”

“I’m being realistic.”

“You sound like a mad man.”

“You sound like a coward!”

It was Iroh’s turn to slam his fists on the table. “You should be careful how you address your future Fire Lord.”

Ozai leaned back. “As should you,” he said quietly, shocking even himself with his forwardness. He hadn’t expected to say it, and perhaps he should have regretted those words. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about the possibility of stealing Iroh’s birthright in the past. But in the moment, the idea clicked in his brain and would not dissipate. He glared at his brother, challenging him.

Iroh looked incredulous. He was shaking his head in disbelief. “Let go of this delusion, my brother. I will take Azulon’s place on the throne, and Lu Ten after me. You should be begging me not to tell our father about these treasonous ideas in your head.”

Ozai wasn’t afraid. He knew his brother would protect him, just like he always had. He could say anything he wished to the older man in front of him without fear. “I assure you, brother. I am only thinking about what is best for the Fire Nation.”

“And you believe you are what’s best?”

“Perhaps.”

Iroh’s eyes turned malicious. “And who after you? There are rumours your firstborn isn’t even a bender. How could he lead this great nation?”

Ozai knew Iroh was just trying to hurt him, but he fell for it. He threw Iroh a furious glare, then stood up and stormed out of the garden. He pushed past servants in the halls and slammed doors behind him all the way to his own courtyard, where Zuko was training with Master Piandao. It was late, the sun was going down, and the boy looked exhausted. He stopped, trying to calm his mind, watching the lesson with concern.

Ozai knew Zuko had a difficult schedule. Classes in the morning, firebending in the afternoon when the sun was highest in the sky, then the sword in the evenings. Azula was nowhere to be seen, probably spending time with her friends, whose names Ozai had never cared to learn. But perhaps all of the training was paying off. Zuko wielded the sword like it was his own body part, keeping up with his Master’s fast pace surprisingly well.

Now why couldn’t he bend like that? Fury grew in the pit of Ozai’s stomach. Swords could never stand against fire. His boy looked like a commoner, throwing around sharp things when he had the gift of bending in the palm of his hands. It was disgraceful.

Ozai walked into the garden, and Zuko froze in surprise. Master Piandao turned to see what had distracted his student, and bowed when he saw Ozai.

“Your Highness.”

“You are excused,” Ozai said, his voice low and annoyed. Piandao looked surprised, but nodded, sheathed his sword, and left the garden, tossing a concerned look at Zuko.

Zuko’s eyes were scared as he looked up at his father. He could sense Ozai’s mood.

“Show me what you learned today.”

Zuko raised his sword.

“No,” Ozai snapped. “With Master Kunyo.”

Zuko quickly ran off to a spot near the fountain, where the sheath for his sword was resting. He carefully put the weapon away, tossing nervous glances back at his father as he hurried, then ran back to the middle of the garden.

“Master Kunyo taught me a new form today,” he said shyly.

“Let’s see.”

Zuko moved through the form fluidly. Ozai was surprised to see it was advanced for his age, but without the fire, it was unimpressive. When he finished, he looked up at Ozai hopefully.

Ozai knew his face was cold. “Do it again, and use your fire this time.”

Zuko looked disappointed, but only for a moment before he returned to the starting position and completed the movement. At the end, only a small, pathetic puff of smoke emerged from his palm. He looked up at his father expectantly. Ozai frowned.

“Again.”

Zuko nervously returned to the beginning, clearly upset.

“Wait until your emotions are under control.”

Zuko closed his eyes and breathed slowly. When he opened them again, his face was determined. He moved through the form fluidly and, to Ozai’s surprise, a small flame cloud shot from his son’s palm. Zuko almost hopped up and down with excitement, and he turned to Ozai happily.

“I did it!” He said in a small voice.

“That’s hardly something to be proud of,” Ozai snapped. “Your sister was doing that years ago.”

Zuko’s little face dropped and he looked at the ground. Ozai sighed when he saw tears forming in his son’s eyes.

“My boy, you need to toughen up. You won’t make it far in this world if you break down so easily.”

Zuko took a few shaky breaths, trying to calm himself, but tears slipped out anyway. He quickly wiped them off his cheeks as they came.

“Control yourself and start again.”

He closed his eyes in concentration, trying to calm down, but his breaths only became more and more shaky until finally his face scrunched up and he let out a few pathetic sobs before burying his face in his hands.

Ozai watched him cry for a moment, unsure what to do. His own father would have slapped him across the face and screamed at him to do as he was told. Ursa would scoop him up in her arms and smother him in kisses and compliments. He sighed and rubbed his temples.

“I’m tired,” Zuko complained through his sobs, unable to wipe away his tears faster than they came.

He did look tired. His eyes were red, and not just from crying, and he wobbled a bit on his feet, like he wanted to collapse. It made Ozai realize that the sun was going down, and Zuko had been training all afternoon.

“Come here.”

Zuko timidly walked towards his father, his breath coming in hitches. He looked up at Ozai with big, round, nervous eyes. Ozai put a hand on his forehead to feel his temperature, but he didn’t feel hot.

“You’ve grown,” he observed. “I’m going to tell Master Kunyo to teach you more bending. Not just postures.”

“But mom said – “

“We won’t tell your mother.” Ozai figured that would save him another argument full of hateful glares, at least for awhile. “How many more postures do you need to master before you catch up with your sister?”

“Eight.”

“I expect you’ll have caught up by the end of the month. If you need to skip your lessons with Master Piandao to train, then do so.”

Zuko nodded, tears still streaming down his cheeks.

“Good boy.” Ozai reached out and wiped his son’s tears off his cheeks with his thumbs. “Now stop this. You can go to bed now. There’s no reason to cry.”

Zuko slowly followed his father inside, and Ozai instructed a servant to put him to bed. He went to his study to plan for the next day’s strategy meeting, but ended up sipping on Fire Whiskey and staring at the ceiling instead. He couldn’t get his brother’s words out of his mind.

At the end of the week, he left a long, frustrating strategy meeting to see Ursa stomping down the hall with fury in her eyes. He sighed and waited for the others to walk past, leaving them alone in the hallway, before apathetically asking what she wanted. He had been expecting this at some point, but he’d wished it would’ve been when he was in a better mood.

Ursa took a breath to calm herself before speaking. “I went to check on Zuko with Master Piandao, but he wasn’t there. I found him practicing firebending with Azula.”

Ozai smiled in surprise. “Good.”

Ursa’s lip twitched. “He was feverish. I took him aside to ask what he was doing, and he told me he had to catch up with his sister by the end of the month. But he wouldn’t tell me why.”

Ozai raised an eyebrow.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you?”

Ozai scoffed. “Yes, I do. But he’ll be fine. He needs to learn.”

“I thought we were past this. He can’t learn if he’s dead,” Ursa spat.

“Don’t overreact.” Ozai started to walk away. “People will think you’re hysterical.”

“Ozai,” she yelled after him, and when Ozai turned to look at her, she was shaking in anger, tears forming in her eyes. He was suddenly reminded of his son earlier in the week, crying in the garden because he was tired. “If he gets sick again, it will be your fault.”

Perhaps this was why Iroh spent so much time with Lu Ten – to prevent the weakness of his wife from influencing his son. Ozai narrowed his eyes. “And if he grows up weak, it will be yours.”

He stormed away without looking back.

The next morning, a servant showed up at Ozai’s door, her eyes fixed on the floor. She quietly informed him that Zuko had developed a high fever overnight.

“He will only let his mother touch him. His entire body turns scorching hot if anyone else tries.”

Ozai remembered the way Zuko had turned hot that day at the beach, making him drop the little boy into the ocean. He sighed and made his way to his son’s bedroom, preparing himself for more of Ursa’s angry glares. When he arrived, Zuko was lying motionless on his bed with his mother pressing a cloth to his forehead. Ursa’s body tensed when she heard him enter the room. She didn’t turn around.

“Move aside,” he ordered her. She stood up and moved to the window, looking outside.

Ozai took Ursa’s place on the side of the bed. Zuko opened his eyes and looked up at his dad. His face was flushed red, his hairline soaked in sweat, and his breath shallow and ragged. Ozai nervously reached out to touch his son’s forehead, and felt relieved when he didn’t burn him. But his skin was still scorching hot.

“Zola is making him medicine again,” Ursa said quietly, and her voice was broken, like she had been crying for hours.

“Who?”

“The healer.”

“Good,” Ozai stood up to look down the hallway, waiting impatiently.

Ursa didn’t turn around until the healer returned. When she did, her eyes were red-rimmed and her cheeks were puffy. She continued to avoid eye contact with her husband as she propped Zuko up on some pillows and started to force-feed him the black jelly. Zuko seemed to remember the medicine from two years earlier, and so he didn’t complain, knowing it would make him feel better. This time, Ozai did have to clap a hand over his mouth and force him to swallow his own vomit. But when he was finally finished, his fever was unchanged. On the healer’s instructions, Ozai ordered a servant to draw him another ice bath. As Ozai lowered his son’s naked body into the freezing water, Zuko burst into tears just like last time, as if he hadn’t aged, clutching his father’s neck and trying to escape the cold. Ozai held him down while Ursa tried to console him.

By the end of the day, Ozai had missed all of his prior engagements, and Zuko’s fever had gotten progressively worse. He became delirious, sobbing hysterically as he lay on his bed, his entire body flushed red. Ursa did her best to calm him down but to little avail. The healer made him another bowl of black jelly, sadly informing them that she’d run out of ingredients.

“Get more,” Ozai ordered.

“I can only get them in a nearby colony. It will take a few days to get there and back.”

Ozai sighed in exasperation, crossing his arms and looking down at his son, who still couldn’t be consoled.

“Could I have a word, your Highness?” The healer asked, and Ozai once again found himself following her into the hallway. Azula was peeking out her door again, trying to get a look inside her brother’s room.

“Is Zuko dead yet?” She asked.

“Your brother is fine, my dear. Go back to sleep.” Ozai said, and she grudgingly closed her bedroom door. He turned to the healer. “What is it?”

“The colony that I mentioned … we could send someone for the ingredients, but having such a high fever for that long … Zuko could face long-term damage. And the remedy doesn't seem to be working this time.”

“Then do something else,” Ozai growled.

The healer looked terrified. “What if we bring the Prince to the colony?”

“Excuse me?” Ozai asked in disbelief. His son barely left the palace, let alone the Upper Ring. The only time he left was to go to the beach house, and that took weeks of preparation to ensure the family’s safety.

“There is water bender imprisoned there. She has extensive knowledge on healing firebenders. That’s where I was able to find the turtle-duck shells for your son’s medicine. She is a prisoner … so I'm sure she would be discrete. And I’m sure she can heal him.”

Ozai immediately cast the idea off as ridiculous, but when he looked back at his son laying on his bed, struggling to breathe, he found himself reconsidering. He walked back inside the bedroom, and Ursa finally looked up at him. Of course she had heard their discussion, and now her eyes were filling up with tears again, begging him to follow the healer's advice.

“How would we get him there?” Ozai challenged. “No one can touch him.”

“I can,” Ursa said.

“You are not leaving this palace without me.” Ozai would not put it above her to use this trip as an excuse to get in touch with her family, and he couldn’t risk the threat to the security of the Fire Nation.

Ursa winced. “You, then.”

“What?”

“You bring him.” Her voice was firm and her eyes were accusatory. “It’s your fault,” she added on in a whisper. Ozai stifled the twinge of guilt her words made him feel. As she stared at him, Zuko let out a sob and her eyes softened. “Please,” she whimpered.

Ozai sighed and paused for a long time, pacing back and forth. Finally, he returned to the hallway and beckoned for a guard.

“Ready a ship for me and the Prince. In secrecy.”

When he returned to Zuko’s bedroom, Ursa stared at him with grateful tears in her eyes. The softness on her face was a relief, more than Ozai had expected it to be. He missed that softness.

The colony was called Yu Dao, and it would take them a day and a half to reach it on ship. Ursa had pleaded to let her go with them, but the risk was too high. Ozai himself going was already suspicious enough and he couldn’t have people finding out how sickly his son was – especially Azulon. His father might still tell him to throw the seven-year-old over the palace walls. Ozai had brought the healer along, even though Zuko wouldn’t let her touch him. Azula had begged to go, too, running up to him as he carried Zuko to the carriage and tugging on his sleeve. “Please, please, please!” She’d exclaimed, her giant eyes full of hope, but he’d sent her back to Ursa.

“I’ll look forward to seeing a new advanced form when I return,” he’d encouraged. A look of determination had spread across her face and she’d nodded excitedly.

He wished he could’ve disguised this as a trip to the beach house and brought the rest of his family along, but Azulon would never have fallen for that. Instead, he’d bribed an Admiral to request royal presence in the colonies as part of a Fire Nation Pride event. Of course, Azulon had apathetically sent Ozai. He didn’t know that his grandson was getting on the ship with them. Ozai was grateful there were men in the military he could trust – he’d given the Admiral a threatening speech to pass onto the guards that were escorting them to the colony. Discretion was of utmost importance.

Now, Zuko was wrapped tightly in a thin blanket, sitting beside Ozai with his head resting on his chest. His eyes were squeezed shut and his entire little body was shivering. Ozai’s arm was wrapped around him protectively, clutching his tiny shoulder. The way the heat from his fever radiated off of him made it feel like Ozai was hugging a fireball.

Ozai didn’t know why he felt so tense. Guards surrounded the carriage and the trip was spontaneous enough that rebel groups wouldn’t have been able to plan an attack. But he still felt on edge.

When they reached the docks, Ozai lifted Zuko up with one arm and carried him onto the ship, surrounded by so many guards that he couldn’t even see where he was walking. As they set sail, he decided to keep Zuko on the deck while the morning air was still cool. It might help keep his fever under control but he was also worried about Zuko waking up sick. Every time he’d brought his family to the beach house, Ursa had ended up holding back Zuko’s ponytail while he puked over the side of the railing. The healer had brought a bag of sour dried prunes for Zuko to suck on, claiming it would help with the seasickness, but Ozai hoped his son would just sleep the whole time and he wouldn’t have to deal with it at all.

He wasn’t so lucky. Less than an hour after setting sail, Zuko woke up on the makeshift bed some servants had set up for him on the deck. “Mama,” he whimpered, weakly looking around in confusion. He looked so scared and pathetic that Ozai gave into the urge to pull him onto his lap.

“Hush, child,” Ozai tried, rubbing his back awkwardly, trying to mimic Ursa. Zuko seemed to calm down. He relaxed, leaning his head against Ozai’s chest.

“Tummy,” he said weakly. Ozai called for a servant to bring him a bucket and as soon as he set it in his son’s lap, he threw up what little contents were in his stomach. The servant took the bucket away and Zuko immediately started to cry.

Ozai shushed him as gently as he could. Some of the crewmates were glancing over at them, their eyes sympathetic, and Ozai felt embarrassed. He shouldn’t have picked him up.

“You’re too old to cry when you’re sick,” Ozai scolded, whispering in his ear. “Aren’t you a big strong boy?”

Zuko sniffled and stopped his tears, but he snuggled closer to his father’s chest. He felt so small in Ozai’s arms, and it tugged at his heart, but he forced those feelings down. He laid Zuko back down in the blankets beside him. The boy was always spoiled by his mother, and he needed to learn to comfort himself. Sure enough, he fell asleep again soon after, and Ozai felt relieved.

Meanwhile, the healer approached with a cold cloth and water, hesitantly handing them both to Ozai. “He should be drinking water,” she said. Ozai placed the cloth on Zuko’s forehead but set the water aside, not wanting to risk waking him up to drink it.

In the afternoon, as the sun rose higher in the sky, Ozai carried Zuko inside where it was cooler. Despite his son's protests, he tore the blanket away from and poured cold water in his mouth, most of it dribbling down onto his chest. His fever stayed stubbornly high, making him toss and turn and cry relentlessly, even as Ozai scolded him to be strong. At the end of the day, he held him up in a sitting position while the healer fed him congee, then he ordered the servants to bring their beds on the deck so they could sleep in the cool night air.

In the middle of the night, Zuko fell out of his bed with a crash, making Ozai, the healer, and the guards surrounding them all jump in surprise. He burst into tears, of course, and Ozai sighed as he got out of his own bed to console him. Zuko’s blankets were soaked in sweat, his hair drenched like he’d just been fished out of the ocean. His breath was laboured, and when Ozai touched his arms to help him back in his bed, he was burning hotter than he thought possible. He gestured for the healer to come.

Ozai lifted Zuko’s chin to look at his face, and his son looked up at him with glassy, unfocused eyes. “Daddy?” He slurred. “What’s a boomerang?”

“He’s delirious.”

“Bring ice water,” the healer told the guards, and two of them immediately ran to the lower deck. While he waited, Ozai stripped Zuko out of his pyjamas and forced him to drink some water, but he spat it up all over himself. The healer tried to clean him up with a towel, but Zuko shrieked and started crying hysterically when she touched him, trying to climb into Ozai’s lap. When the guards returned with buckets of water, the healer poured cups of it over Zuko’s head. He clawed at Ozai’s chest and sobbed, gasping for breath as the cold hit him and he shook uncontrollably. He cried for his mother pathetically, and a part of Ozai wanted to clap a hand over his mouth so that the guards wouldn’t hear how weak he sounded.

Eventually, Zuko started to calm down. Ozai was pressing ice wrapped in a cloth on his son’s forehead, and the rest of his body was soaked in cold water. He was settled against Ozai’s chest, his eyes heavy like he wanted to fall back asleep. When Ozai touched his arm to gauge his temperature again, he was relieved that it had gone down.

“He’s still hot, but it seems more under control now,” he told the healer. She nodded in relief.

“Why don’t we put him back to bed?”

A servant changed Zuko’s sweaty blankets, and Ozai dried his son off with a towel before helping him back into his pyjamas. He set his boy back into bed and stayed beside him until he’d drifted back to sleep.

Thankfully, Zuko slept the rest of the night, and most of the morning. When Yu Dao was visible in the distance, less than an hour away, Ozai gently shook his son awake and lifted him up into a sitting position. He slowly poured water into his mouth, holding him still when he tried to push the glass away.

“You need to drink it, my boy.”

“Tummy,” he said.

Ozai pointed at the city on the horizon. “Look at the land. It will help.”

The healer sat beside them and fed Zuko cold congee while he stared at the horizon. He seemed confused. He was still a bit delirious, and he probably had no clue where he was going or why. But he didn’t seem afraid, as long as Ozai kept his arm tightly wrapped around him, his chin resting on the top of his head.

As the ship docked at the port, Ozai started to dress his son in more appropriate clothing, but his emotions got the best of him when Zuko started whimpering in the heat of his tunic. He decided to keep him in his underwear and wrap him in a thin red blanket instead. The guards would be surrounding them anyway, so the commoners wouldn't be able to see.

As they readied themselves to get off the ship, he held Zuko tightly in his arms, his legs wrapped around his waist and his head resting on his shoulder. “Guards,” he stated firmly. “Ensure the peasants do not see the Prince in his state.”

The guards tightened the circle around them, shielding them from nosy eyes. As they walked into town, Ozai could see nothing in front of him but the guards’ backs until he stepped inside the carriage. He sat Zuko down beside him, letting him lean against his chest. The healer and a guard entered the carriage and sat across from him, both of them looking nervous and avoiding eye contact.

“You, guard,” Ozai said. His voice wasn’t harsh, but the guard still jumped. “State your name.”

“Sergeant Zhao, your Highness.”

“What is the purpose of this colony?”

“I believe they specialize in metal, your Highness.”

He looked at the healer. “How did they come across a waterbender?”

The guard looked surprised. Ozai supposed they wouldn’t have been informed of the details of the trip. The Admiral he’d bribed was smart – discretion was much more likely the less the guards knew.

The healer responded. “I believe it was during a raid in the Southern Water Tribe. She told them she could work as a healer in exchange for her life.”

“Smart woman,” Ozai commented, smirking in approval. A waterbender betraying her own people was a rare occurrence, and it was one of the many reasons why Sozin had realized they were less evolved than those from the Fire Nation. When faced with the choice between a primitive life in the Water Tribes or the technology, civilization, and power of the Fire Nation, it should be a clear decision to an intelligent, reasonable human.

The long, silent carriage ride reminded him of his first meeting with Ursa. When the carriage finally came to a stop, he sighed in relief, pushing away the memories that kept trying to surface and stifling down the emotions that came with them. They remained in the carriage for a long time after they’d stopped. It was getting quite warm inside, and Zuko was starting to pant and sweat. The healer handed Ozai a waterskin and he helped Zuko drink from it slowly. Finally, a guard pulled back the fabric carriage door and Ozai stepped out with his son in his arms. The guards stood in two lines, creating a path from the carriage to the open door of a small hut. A woman was standing there, looking at him with terror in her strange blue eyes, her brown skin seemingly out of place against the red Fire Nation garments adorning her body. Ozai was surprised to see that she wasn’t in chains.

Inside the hut, a large bed was set up in the corner of the room, and shelves lined the walls, full of jars and boxes and books. Fire Nation figurines and banners were scattered throughout the small room, and the woman stood in the centre, avoiding eye contact.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, your Highness. I am Euna.” She bowed deeply, looking at the floor. Ozai was surprised by her excellent manners.

“Have you been informed about my son?”

“Yes, your Highness.”

“And you are capable of healing him safely?”

She nodded. “Yes, your Highness.” She beckoned to the bed in the corner. “If you can set him on the bed, I can calm his fire now.”

Ozai walked towards the bed and carefully laid Zuko down. His son’s eyes were half-opened and he looked around, confused, holding onto Ozai’s sleeve. A strange quacking noise drew Ozai’s attention to the side of the bed, where a large, ornate pot sat, the colouring clearly Water Tribe in origin. Floating inside were two turtle-ducks, swimming in circles and snapping at the end of each other’s shells.

The waterbender approached timidly. “Can you remove the blanket?”

Ozai unwrapped Zuko from the blanket.

“May I?” She asked.

Ozai reluctantly stepped away from his son, watching her closely. Zuko looked up at her in confusion, and when she sat down beside him, he called out for his father, afraid.

“I’m here, my son.”

Zuko reached out for his father, but stopped when the waterbender smiled down at him. “What a handsome boy,” she said, and Zuko seemed to calm down at the sound of her gentle voice. She turned to the pot beside the bed, hovering her hands over top of it, and slowly pulled a stream of water out from underneath the turtle-ducks, who both quacked at her in protest.

As the water came closer to his son, Ozai resisted the urge to shove her aside and shout that she couldn’t be trusted. Instead, her barked at her suspiciously, “Explain to me what you’re doing as you do it.”

The Water Tribe savage jumped at his voice, but nodded. “Water is the opposite of Fire,” she said, bringing the stream of water down onto Zuko’s naked chest. It swirled around in circles with the motions of her hands, and then sunk down inside of his body. “But this water is special,” she continued. “The turtle-ducks secrete a cooling mucin into the water that calms a firebender’s flame. I am using the healing water to calm the fire in his soul.”

That explained the turtle-duck jelly the healer had prepared. Ozai remained alert and suspicious, watching his son for any signs of distress. The woman raised the water out of Zuko’s body, and has it hovered there steaming, she took a deep breath and blew on it until it cooled down again. The steam dissipated around the room and she sunk the water down again into Zuko’s chest. As she repeated the movement, the rash-like flush on Zuko’s skin slowly faded and his face looked relieved, his eyes falling shut. When his breathing returned to normal, his eyes opened and he watched what was happening to him with curiosity, looking up at the waterbender with a naïve trust in his young eyes. Ozai remained on edge.

Finally, the waterbender gently placed the healing water back into the pot with the turtle-ducks. It rained down on them, making them quack and shake out their feathers happily. Zuko sat up when he heard the quacking, and Ozai was relieved to see him move so easily. He knelt down on the bed and peered inside the pot.

“They’re so cute!” He exclaimed.

The waterbender smiled at him. “Are you feeling better, little one?”

Zuko nodded, not taking his eyes off the little creatures in front of him.

“Would you like to hold one?”

Zuko nodded again enthusiastically, but stopped when he caught Ozai’s eye. “Can I?” He asked timidly. Ozai nodded, and the waterbender gently lifted one of the turtle-ducks out of the pot, setting it in Zuko’s arms. He held it like it was made of glass, cradling it in his arms and scratching it’s feathers gently with one of his tiny fingers. The turtle-duck nestled against him, looked up at him, and quacked. When Ozai looked up at his son, his eyes were filled with tears.

“What’s the matter?” He asked.

Zuko looked up at him sheepishly. “It’s cute,” he explained. The waterbender smiled at him.

“That’s no reason to cry,” Ozai said firmly, wiping his son’s eyes with his thumb. “Come, now.”

Zuko reluctantly handed the turtle-duck back to its owner and stood beside his father. Ozai squatted down and wrapped him in his blanket, examining his chest for any damage. He felt his forehead, and his fever was gone. “Are you alright?” He asked.

Zuko nodded.

“Do you feel better?”

He nodded again. Ozai stood up and pushed his son behind him protectively. The waterbender glanced up at Ozai, then stared at the floor again. Ozai thought for a moment. Perhaps he should bring the savage with them. She could remain in the palace and heal Zuko when necessary. But that could be risky. If Azulon found out there was a Water Tribe savage in the palace, he would hunt her down and kill her, and if he found out Ozai was the one who brought her there, he would be furious. It could lead to him finding out about Zuko’s condition.

“Is there a way for us to treat him without you?” He asked her. “My healer has been using an herbal remedy, but it wasn’t effective this time.”

The waterbender thought for a moment, then nodded. “Is there any chance you have a pool of water at the Capital? Preferably outdoors, that your son can access easily?”

Zuko tugged on his father’s sleeve and Ozai looked down at him. He whispered, “the fountain.”

“We have a fountain in our courtyard.”

“Is it large enough for your son to lay in?”

“I suppose so.”

The waterbender turned around and took a box off of a shelf. She opened it up, removed the contents, and then started to fill it with clumps of hay from a jar. Ozai watched in confusion. Then she gently took the turtle-ducks out of the Water Tribe pot and placed them carefully in the hay.

“These two are male and female. They'll reproduce, so having these two should keep him healthy until he grows up.” She handed Ozai the box. “Put them in the fountain. Their secretions will treat the water. If he starts to feel warm, you can put him in the water until he cools down. Just make sure to do it as soon as he starts to feel feverish.”

Ozai nodded and took the box. He handed it to his son, who excitedly took the box, looking down at the little creatures with delight. He put his arm around Zuko and guided him to the door, but before they left, Zuko’s eye caught something on a shelf nearby. When the waterbender saw his interest in it, she took it off the shelf and handed it to him. It looked like a little wooden dart game.

“Take it,” she said, but then gave Ozai a nervous look. “If it’s alright with you, your Highness.”

Ozai took a closer look at it. The darts were dull enough that he didn’t think Zuko could hurt himself with it, otherwise Ursa would just take it away.

“For Azula,” Zuko said. “I think she’ll like it.”

“Why don’t you take something for yourself?” Ozai asked.

Zuko shook his head. “I have the turtle-ducks,” he beckoned to the box he was holding under one arm. “But Azula should get something, too.”

The waterbender smiled down at him. “What a sweet boy,” she said.

Ozai ignored her and pulled on Zuko’s arm. He handed the dart game to the guard by the door, and picked up his son. He wanted to make sure he didn’t drop his blanket and end up naked in the middle of the colony. With Zuko in his arms, he handed the guard a generous handful of coins. “Give it to the waterbender,” he said, and left.

Zuko played with the turtle-ducks the entire trip home, sucking on sour dried prunes, which did seem to prevent him from getting seasick. While he played, Ozai watched him and thought about the waterbender’s words.

“What a sweet boy.”

The sweet boy gently scooped up a turtle-duck in his hands, chattering to it like it could understand him. A prince of the Fire Nation shouldn’t be sweet, and yet here he was, cuddling baby birds and buying his little sister presents. Rescuing turtle-crabs and crying every time he was scolded. Ozai worried he was too soft for the life he’d been born into. He needed to be stronger. But Ozai felt lost about how to make him that way.


	5. Rage

Hours of discussion in the latest strategy meeting had left Ozai drained and frustrated beyond comprehension. Despite Ozai’s subtle protests, Azulon still insisted on expanding the colonies in the Earth Kingdom. The longer he spoke, the more cowardly he sounded. Ozai was starting to wonder if Azulon was going to wait until he died so that Iroh could do the hard work. Perhaps he was worried about the possibility of failing at Ba Sing Se and his legacy being tainted. That made him seem even more cowardly.

It was late in the afternoon by the time they had finished. Ozai was red in the face from keeping in all of his angry rants and he felt like punching the torches off the walls as he made his way home. He went to the courtyard, figuring he might be able to catch the end of the children’s firebending lesson. Sometimes, if he could watch Azula flawlessly executing a master form, like a tiny humanoid dragon, he could feel a bit of pride and his mood would be lifted. Even watching Zuko could lift his mood, if he caught him on a good day. In the year since they’d returned with the turtle-ducks, his son had managed to improve considerably, though he was nowhere near his sister, and he was still underperforming, even at the tender age of eight. But if he could catch his boy training alongside Azula, perhaps matching an intermediate move, he could feel some amount of approval that could calm his mood.

Today, he wasn’t so lucky. Their lesson appeared to be over. Azula was on one side of the courtyard, cartwheeling with another girl her age. He vaguely heard the other girl brag that she could do it better, and Azula, smirking, hopped into a handstand to firebend out of her bare feet, making her friend jump back in fright. Ozai chuckled as his daughter leaped back upright and stuck her tongue out, standing tall with her chest puffed out. She really was the perfect princess – unwavering confidence, effortless talent, and a deeply instilled understanding of her own entitlement.

Meanwhile, Master Kunyo was on the other side of the yard, packing up his things as he readied to leave. Zuko was half-naked in the fountain with the turtle-ducks and Ursa was across from him, watching. Ozai frowned disapprovingly. Judging by the time, Zuko should still be training for at least another hour, but instead, he was chattering to his mother. Ursa reached out to tickle him in the water and Zuko’s laughter carried across the courtyard. Then he picked up a turtle-duck, snuggling it close to his chest, and started pointing at the markings on its feathers, explaining how he could tell it apart from the others. Ursa seemed impressed.

“Father?” Azula interrupted his spying. She was standing in front of him, staring up at him curiously with her hands behind her back. She followed his line of sight to Zuko and her mother, then rolled her eyes. “They always do that. Were you watching me?”

“Yes. Excellent forms, as usual, Princess.”

Azula beamed and skipped inside the palace. Her friend gave him a quick bow before chasing after her. Master Kunyo followed soon, startling when he saw Ozai.

“Your Highness!”

“Why isn’t the Prince training?”

Master Kunyo glanced back at Zuko, who now seemed to be deeply immersed in a story he was telling his mother. Ursa was listening intently with exaggerated facial expressions. “He became feverish, your Highness.”

Ozai sighed. “How often does this happen?”

“Most days, your Highness.”

“And how is his bending?”

Master Kunyo seemed unsure how to answer.

“Speak frankly.”

“Poor, your Highness. He seems to be pushing himself hard, but he hasn’t been making much progress. He has yet to master even a few beginner exercises.”

Ozai crossed his arms and watched Zuko thoughtfully, his chest filling with embarrassment.

“Your daughter, on the other hand, is a true prodigy.”

“Yes,” Ozai responded with a subtle smile. “She is easily living up to her role.”

“Perhaps, once he’s a bit older, his Fire Sickness will become more manageable and he can train more productively.”

Ozai nodded. Master Kunyo bowed and bid him a goodnight before leaving the courtyard. Ozai debated whether or not he should interrupt his wife and son, but decided against it. His day had left him too tired for more arguments.

And yet, at the dinner table, they still ended up on the topic. Azula had already finished scarfing down most of her food, and was now rambling on to Ozai about her latest accomplishments in her lessons.

“Master Kunyo says he’s never seen someone my age master this form before, dad. Do you want to see it?”

Before Ozai could answer, she hopped up and performed for him. The backflip was especially impressive, flames erupting out of her bare feet. He hadn’t realized she’d just learned that today. He clapped when she was done.

“Excellent.”

“Finish your dinner, my dear.” Ursa said, and Azula quieted down for a few more bites.

“Zu-zu can’t do it,” she bragged with her mouth open.

“I’m not surprised,” Ozai said honestly. He saw Zuko’s shoulders fall and Ursa’s eyes narrow at the same time.

“Zuko was showing me how to tell all of the new turtle-ducklings apart,” Ursa tried.

“Perhaps if he spent as much time on his forms as he does with the turtle-ducks, his sister wouldn’t be so blatantly outshining him.” Ozai snapped.

Zuko had stopped eating, looking down at his lap. Ursa put her hand on his shoulder. “Actually, I watched him do that same form today.”

Ozai raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, but he didn't firebend!” Azula said, her tone defensive.

“He’ll be able to do it when he’s older,” Ursa tried again, speaking to Ozai. She flashed Azula a warning look before she could retort, making her lean back in her chair with her arms crossed and her face screwed up in an angry pout.

“Perhaps he should train longer.”

Zuko looked at his mother nervously.

“He’s already training long enough.”

“He doesn’t even practice, he just lays with the dumb birds in the fountain!” Azula accused, tugging on Ozai’s sleeve.

“Azula, enough!” Ursa scolded, then turned to Ozai again. “You know he gets sick.”

Ozai groaned. “If he’s so sickly than perhaps we should just let him die.”

Zuko tensed and Ursa looked shocked. “Why would you say that?”

Ozai ran his hands through his hair. He was still exhausted and he hadn’t wanted to argue, but his wife always managed to press his buttons lately, as if she wanted him to look like a monster. He glanced down at Zuko, whose eyes had filled with tears. His body was turned away from Ozai, towards his mother, like he wanted to jump into her lap. Ozai tried to remember being eight, if he had been this sensitive, if it was normal for a boy to be as attached to his mother as Zuko was, but he truly couldn’t remember.

“All I meant,” Ozai said slowly, his anger seeping through his voice despite his attempts at hiding it, “was that our son needs to learn to be tough. He needs to push through the pain so that he can become better. He will never survive in this world if he needs to spend half of his time cuddling baby animals or curled up in his mother’s lap.”

Azula laughed. “Yeah!”

“Azula!” Ursa shouted. “Enough!” Ozai got the feeling she’d wanted to yell at him, but settled for her daughter instead, someone she knew wouldn’t yell back.

“You’re strict with our daughter, why not the boy?”

“I don’t need to be strict with Zuko.” She looked pointedly at Azula. “He’s well behaved.”

“No, you just don’t want to be strict with him. You coddle him. You treat him like a baby, and so he acts like one. Perhaps if you stopped stifling him, he would learn to be strong enough to handle his fire. Like our daughter.”

“I won’t let you blame me for his illness, Ozai, or him. It’s nobody’s fault that he’s like this. And if you could set down your impossible expectations for even a moment, you’d realize how hard he’s trying to impress you.”

“Trying? I don’t care how hard he’s trying. Are you so naive to think that he’ll be a great man just be trying? You can’t try, you must be. You must succeed. There is no room for a prince to fail, at anything.”

Ursa paused, her eyebrows furrowed as she watched him and her eyes seemed to soften. “Is this you talking, Ozai, or is it your father?”

Ozai felt a rage erupt in his chest, seemingly out of nowhere. His body move without his mind’s intention. He stood up, his chair smashing to the ground, and suddenly he was yanking his wife to her feet with a hand crushing her throat, screaming nonsense, his vision clouded in red, and then two small hands were pulling at his robe with all their might, barely budging him but enough to annoy him, and he dropped his wide and reached back, grabbing a tiny arm with one hand and a ponytail with the other.

“Stay out of this, boy!” He heard himself say, and threw the child to the ground. Zuko landed hard and slid across the room with a pained cry, his head hitting against the marble floor. Ursa was at his side in a second, and Zuko stood up, trying to shield his mother with his tiny body. He looked up at his father with a look of fear and defiance before wavering on his feet and falling to the ground again. Ursa gathered him in his arms and pressed his face to her chest. She looked up at Ozai in shock and horror.

“Azula,” she whispered. “Come.”

She walked as quickly as she could out of the room, their son in her arms and their daughter at her side. Ozai watched them leave, breathing heavily, steadying himself with his hand on the table. Azula kept looking back at him with a confused look, until the door closed behind them with a heavy sound that echoed throughout the room, and he was left alone.

He stared after them for a long time. Finally, he slowly picked up his chair and slumped down into it at the table, even more exhausted than he was before. As his breathing slowed, the rage slowly began to be replaced by something else – a deep, heavy feeling in his stomach that made him want to vomit. He looked at the small smear of blood on the floor where Zuko had fallen. He never regretted his actions, but this time, he couldn’t even lie to himself about it.

He groaned in exasperation. It was that woman’s fault. If she hadn’t pushed him, this never would have happened. He’d let her defiance grow too much, and now it was out of control. Azulon had warned him about this, before he’d even seen Ursa for the first time - he’d explained carefully that obedience was the most important trait in a wife, and now this had happened because Ozai hadn’t listened.

As he left the dining room, he wondered if he should check on Zuko to see if he was alright. The way he’d swayed on his feet and the blood on the floor made him think he probably had a concussion. Ursa would have taken him to the healer, and he still didn’t believe that she would tell anyone what she’d made Ozai do. And so he made his way to his bedroom instead. He took a few shots of Fire Whiskey to ensure he could sleep and then collapsed on his bed without even bothering to change his clothes.

Ozai had expected to wake up the next morning as usual – tired, dreading another pathetic strategy meeting, and annoyed about whatever nightmare had inevitably haunted his dreams that night. Today, that same heavy feeling from the dinner table was added to the mix. He’d expected that by the morning he would have forgotten the entire ordeal, but instead, he seemed to feel even worse. Last night, he’d dreamt about the day he’d met Ursa. Everything had been the same – the beautiful weather, her gentle presence, his father’s unrecognizable kindness – but this time, she hadn’t said yes to their proposal. Instead, she’d tried to run away, and Ozai himself had run after her. He caught up to her easily, swung her over his shoulder, and carried her away while she sobbed and pounded her small fists into his back, begging him to put her down and screaming for her parents.

By lunchtime, Ozai hadn’t heard a single word in the day’s strategy meeting, and his brother was giving him those concerned looks that made Ozai want to jump across the table and strangle him. Servants had brought trays of food into the War Room – Komodo rhino sausages, smoked sea slug, and various fruits and salted vegetables, all of which were unappealing to Ozai, who was too full of that heavy feeling to be hungry, even though the lunch had started an hour later than usual. He forced himself to eat something, avoiding Iroh’s nosy glances, but it all disagreed with him. He stood up to leave, excusing himself, and headed for the door. Perhaps if he just checked on Zuko, that sick feeling would go away.

As he stepped into the hallway, he almost ran into a servant carrying a tray of mochi. He’d never cared for anything sweet, but he wondered if Zuko would like it. Ursa usually didn’t let the children eat sugar, claiming they were energetic enough without any help, but it would be good to have a peace offering with him. He took one off the tray and made his way to the courtyard.

He felt his shoulders relax slightly when he saw Azula and Zuko both training with Master Kunyo. Their schoolbags from the morning’s classes were in the grass beside the fountain, and Zuko’s sword was resting beside them. Master Kunyo was guiding them through an intermediate form. He couldn’t see his son’s face, but he seemed to move through the form normally, with a bit of awkwardness, but nothing out of the ordinary. Azula looked bored as she moved performed with near perfect accuracy. Eventually, Master Kunyo instructed Zuko to continue practicing while he taught Azula something more advanced. She perked up right away, but Zuko’s shoulders seemed to fall.

Figuring this was as good a chance as any, Ozai snuck into the courtyard without Azula or their teacher noticing and tapped his son on the shoulder. Zuko turned around in surprise and when he looked up to see his father, his eyes filled with fear and he backed up in fright. There was a cut on his cheekbone, surrounded by a swollen purplish bruise that looked painful.

“Come here,” he encouraged, trying to keep his voice soft, and beckoned for Zuko to follow him back inside. In the hallway, Zuko looked up at him with uncertainty in his eyes. He clasped his little hands together nervously. Ozai squatted down so that he was eye level with his son, and then showed him the mochi.

“Don’t tell your mother,” he said, offering it to him. Zuko looked at it curiously, and Ozai could tell he was tempted. Instead of taking it from Ozai’s hand, he leaned forward and took a little bite out of it. It made Ozai feel like he was feeding a baby dragon-moose, and he couldn’t help but smile. He had to admit that sometimes his boy was cute. As Zuko chewed on it, his face relaxed and his eyes turned happy. He seemed surprised when he saw Ozai smiling back at him, and his expression turned sheepish.

It seemed Zuko wasn’t afraid of him now, but Ozai’s eyes kept finding their way to the cut on his boy’s cheek. He looked down at the floor, unsure what to say or do.

“My son … last night …” He trailed off. When he looked up at Zuko again, he was looking at him in confusion, and perhaps a little afraid.

“Your mother … sometimes she says things that make me very angry. But I didn’t … I never …” He sighed. He always prided himself in being well-spoken, but he could hear his own stuttering now, and how pathetic it sounded. “I … won’t … it won’t happen again, my son.”

Zuko still seemed confused, and the fear was back in his eyes. Ozai offered the mochi to him again, hoping it would cheer him up, and Zuko stared at it longingly.

“Here, take the rest, my son.”

Zuko took it, and it seemed so much bigger in his little hand. He looked at it like it was the best gift he’d ever received, but then his face turned thoughtful and he glanced back at the door to the courtyard. “Does Azula get one too?”

“I only brought one for you.”

Ozai had expected this to make Zuko feel special, and at first his son appeared to look proud, but then his eyebrows furrowed and he looked at the door once again. “Can I share it with her?”

Perhaps Ozai should have predicted that. Conflicted, he nodded. “If you want to. But you can also keep it for yourself.”

Zuko seemed tempted. He took another small bite and chewed it slowly.

Ozai stood up. “You can go back when you’re done.”

Zuko looked down at the mochi sadly, then seemed to decide. “I’ll give her the rest,” he announced, and then made his way back to the courtyard. Ozai followed him to the door, just to see what would happen. Zuko walked up to Azula, who glared at him and scolded him for leaving without permission, then stopped when she saw what he was holding.

“What’s that? Gimme, gimme, gimme!” She hopped up and down in front of Zuko, who reached out and popped the rest of the mochi in his sister’s mouth. She closed her eyes to chew it, and when she’d swallowed it down, she gave her brother a rare thankful smile before running back to Master Kunyo.

Ozai decided not to think too hard about his son’s decision. The candy had been a peace offering – Zuko could do whatever he wanted with it, even if what he’d decided to do was beyond Ozai’s own comprehension.

Later that night, while Ozai sat in his study sipping Fire Whiskey and contemplating last night’s dream, a servant knocked at the door. Annoyed at being interrupted, he allowed her to enter but ordered her to be quick, assuming she wanted to tidy up. Instead, she stood in front of his desk with her head down, holding an envelope.

“Your Highness, I apologize for interrupting you, but I believe you should be informed of a letter Princess Ursa asked me to send.” She held out the envelope, and Ozai took it curiously. He examined the blank envelope suspiciously, then took out the letter inside, unfolding it hastily. It was addressed to her parents. He skimmed through it quickly, looking for anything of interest, but it all appeared to be harmless fluff – how she missed them and wished she could see them, how she wished they could meet her children, how beautiful the palace was but how much she missed her hometown. That last one was strange, and made Ozai feel irritated. He remembered how beautiful the greenhouse had been when he’d first met Ursa, but the garden in the courtyard was just as attractive if not more so. He didn’t understand how anyone could miss a life as a commoner and her ramblings made her sound ungrateful.

Though, perhaps he could understand why she may miss the comfort of a life without responsibility, however meaningless that life may be. And he’d always known that she would miss her parents – royals by marriage usually did. Of course she’d send it now of all times, nine years after they’d been married but the day after he’d finally lost his temper on her. He could’ve felt like this was his fault, if she hadn’t been the one to press his buttons to begin with. If he’d scared her into missing her past life, then it was her own fault.

Ozai sighed and looked up at the servant – a short old woman with a hunched back, thin eyebrows and bony fingers. “What is your name?”

“Elua, Your Highness.”

“I assume you would never betray your Nation by sending such a letter.”

“Never, Your Highness.”

“I expect any other letters of this sort that the Princess attempts to send will be met with the same fate.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“You are dismissed.”

She bowed and left without another word. In a sudden bout of anger, Ozai tore up the letter and lit the pieces on fire, watching the ashes scatter onto the loose papers on his desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I haven't actually read the comics, but I'm incorporating some of the scenes that I know of from them ... if they're not in order or seem out of context then that is why!


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